Trading Reality (29 page)

‘I can explain,’ I protested. ‘You can hardly blame us for Richard’s death. Technically things are still progressing fast – ’

‘Cut the crap,’ said Jenson. ‘You’re in the shit and you and I both know it. And you can’t handle it. You told me yourself yesterday that you’re finding it hard to manage FairSystems.’

I reeled. If he was trying to goad me, he was succeeding. But worse was the sudden rush of panic I felt. He’s going to take away the Project Platform contract. Without it, we’re definitely sunk. I glanced over to Rachel. Even she looked rattled.

‘Don’t worry, I’ll keep Project Platform with you,’ said Jenson. ‘I just think it would be best to withhold the advance payments until September.’

No! We needed that five hundred thousand pounds desperately. There was no way we could wait until September for it. I recalled the numbers Willie and I had pored over earlier that morning. The company would be out of cash by the end of June.

‘Mr Jenson,’ I said. ‘You know how important cash flow is to a small, growing company like ours. It would be very disruptive if we didn’t get the cash you owe us on time. That would be a breach of contract, and we may have to halt the Project Platform work entirely.’ Of course I didn’t know what was in the Project Platform contract, but I had to bluster.

‘Hey kid. You’ll complete the Project Platform project. You have to, or you got no future.’

I was in a corner, struggling. Try a compromise.

‘Perhaps you could pay us two hundred and fifty thousand now, and the rest in July?’ I suggested.

‘No.’ Jenson was firm. ‘I’m not about to lose three-quarters of a million bucks and screw up a major project because you go under next month. That would be stupid, and I’m not stupid. If you can survive till September, then I know you’ll be around for the long-term, and you’ll get paid. If not, it’s been nice knowing you.’ He gave me a quick smile. ’You’re a finance guy. You’ll find the money. Just give your Wall Street buddies a call.’

‘Carl, you can’t be serious,’ said Rachel.

‘I am serious,’ he said. ‘Sorry, Rachel.’

‘If you refuse to pay us the money you owe us, we’ll cancel Project Platform,’ I said, ‘and then we’ll sue you.’

Jenson held up his hands. ‘If that’s the way you want to play it. You think about it. I’m flying back to the States now. Call me tomorrow and tell me whether you want to go ahead.’ He sprung up from his chair. ‘Be good,’ he said, and he was gone.

I put my head in my hands. Oh shit. This was it. This had to be the end. There was no way in hell FairSystems was going to make it now. It was less than two weeks since I had taken over Richard’s company, and already it was finished.

I sat up. Rachel still looked stunned. ‘Did you expect that?’ I asked.

‘No. It doesn’t make sense. We’re too important to Jenson for him to dump us.’

‘Well, that’s what he’s done.’

‘Do we carry on with Project Platform?’ Rachel asked.

‘Do we hell!’ I said, angrily. Then I thought for a moment. ‘Well, maybe you should keep working on it. Just don’t give Jenson anything new. Is that possible?’

‘I suppose it is.’

‘Good. I’d like the project still to be alive if Jenson changes his mind so we can respond quickly. I hope I never have to deal with him again, but we may have no choice. He’s right; it’s our only hope. Now, I suppose I’d better tell the others.’

A couple of minutes later, David and Willie had joined us. I told them the news.

Willie sucked in through his teeth, and muttered ‘dear dear’ to himself several times. David didn’t seem bothered at all. In fact, he seemed quite pleased.

’What do we do now?’ asked Willie.

‘How long do you think we can last without the Jenson money?’

Willie pulled out his projections. ‘We might make it through the next four weeks. I doubt we’ll make the June payroll.’

It was 19 May today. FairSystems paid its employees on the fifteenth. We had less than a month.

I returned to Kirkhaven that night depressed. I drove slowly along the quay, but didn’t see any sign of Doogie. Or, more importantly, his dog. I walked out along the harbour wall, and sat down to think; or rather to brood.

I had failed. There was no other word for it. I had let down all the people for whom I most cared. Karen. My father. Richard. His company would be lucky if it survived him by two months.

I knew it wasn’t all my fault. But I was used to winning, to having luck on my side, to making money. Secretly I believed that you made your own luck, and only losers failed because of ‘circumstances beyond their control’.

The truth was that I knew nothing about virtual reality, and nothing about running a business. I had done my best to ignore this fact, trusting to my own intelligence and common sense to overcome all problems, but my initial self-confidence had reached a low ebb. Sorenson’s trust in me had been totally misplaced.

And I still had no idea who had killed Richard.

I looked out to sea. The wind blew against my cheeks. It was cold. I couldn’t see the sun behind the layers of cloud. Suddenly I felt moisture against my face; it wasn’t spray but rain. I huddled beneath my jacket.

What the hell was I doing here?

It was probably seventy degrees in London right now. I could be drinking a beer on my terrace, waiting for Karen to come home. Suddenly the hubbub of the Harrison Brothers trading room beckoned, like a large family painfully missed. Greg, Ed, the other traders, the screens, the buying and selling.

And then there was Karen. I felt a long way away from her. It might have been my imagination, but I felt that the physical distance between us was affecting our relationship. Well, if that was true, what was I doing up here, piddling about with a lost cause? I should have been spending more time with her, not less.

So, I arranged to spend the weekend with Karen, and Monday at Harrison Brothers.

‘Tell me about it,’ Karen said. She was curled up on the sofa with a glass of wine. She looked lovely, her fine blonde hair rested lightly on her shoulders, which were turning light brown under the first showing of May sunshine. Her slim calves were seductively tucked up under a blue summer dress.

We had spent the afternoon racing at Sandown. It had been a good day. Busker’s Boy had run for the first time in a two-mile flat race, and I’d put a hundred pounds on him to win. I had lost it when he had come second by a length, but he had run well, and I didn’t feel a complete fool. And Karen had managed to pick three winners by betting on yellow. She was fifty pounds ahead, and that had put her in a very good mood.

I had cooked supper, and we unwound in each other’s company Until now, Karen had stayed clear of the subject of FairSystems, and I had been grateful.

But now I was eager to talk. ‘I think FairSystems is going bust,’ I said.

‘Well, if the shares are down to three dollars, it must be bad.’

‘Oh, I don’t think the market knows how bad it really is. That fall was on worries that VR systems kill people. Which is bad enough. But what’s worse is that we’ve just lost our biggest customer.’

I told her all about Jenson, and what I knew about Project Platform. I also told her about Doogie’s threats.

She listened sympathetically. ‘It’s not your fault.’

‘Of course it is,’ I snapped. Karen looked startled. ‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘But I’ve let you down, I’ve let everyone down.’

‘Bullshit. There was nothing you could have done. Where’s this famous trader’s detachment? You’re getting emotionally involved.’

‘Of course I am! It is my brother’s company after all!’

‘OK, OK,’ said Karen, ‘Mark, I know FairSystems is important to you. But you’ve tried and done your best. There’s no more you can do. No more anyone can do. Face it, you’ve got this trade wrong, but there’s still time to get out with something. Take your losses.’

Her words cut through the clouds of worry and despair like a ray of common sense.

‘How long have you got till the cash runs out?’

‘A month, maybe less.’

‘That still might be enough time to sell the company. You mentioned there were buyers about. Sell out and salvage what you can. Forget FairSystems. Forget that nutcase, Doogie. Come back to London.’

I thought through what she had just said. Nothing short of a miracle would keep the company afloat now. If it went bust, it wouldn’t help anyone. At least if it were sold, the workforce would keep their jobs and Richard’s technology would live on. Dad might not like it. Rachel might not like it. But there was no choice.

‘You’re right,’ I said.‘I’ll sell the company.’

We made love that night. It had been a while. I had missed Karen, and we had had a good day together. But once again it didn’t quite work.

Was it me? Was it her? I didn’t know.

Afterwards, I asked, ‘Is anything wrong?’

‘No,’ she said. ‘Everything’s fine.’

Puzzled, I rolled over and went to sleep.

It was amazing how, once I had taken the decision to sell, my mind cleared. I still felt bad about it. I had failed. I felt guilty that I was betraying Richard in his wish that FairSystems should remain independent. And I had let down my father.

Also, I had failed completely to find out any more about Richard’s death. I was sure it was tied up with FairSystems in some way, but I had no idea how. And if fifty of Fife’s finest couldn’t work it out, how could I?

Karen was right. I was in a losing position. There was nothing I could do to make it better. I should take my losses, get out and move on to the next opportunity.

One thing I didn’t like was giving Doogie the idea that he had scared me into running away. But that was only pride. And, truth be told, it would be nice not to see that bloody dog again.

I called Sorenson on Sunday evening, and told him my decision. He was supportive, encouraging even. He had been unable to produce a miraculous solution when I had told him about Jenson’s withdrawal of the advance payments. He didn’t seem to blame me for what had happened, and he agreed wholeheartedly with my decision to sell.

He said he would talk to my father, who rang me half an hour later.

‘Walter’s spoken to me,’ he said.

‘I’m sorry, Dad. But we have to sell.’

He sighed. ‘Yes, I know. It’s a shame.’

Silence.

‘Walter told me this had nothing to do with you,’ he said. ‘Thanks for trying.’

‘That’s OK.’ They were kind words, but I still felt I had let him down. And, to my annoyance, I cared.

I plunged into the familiar buzz of the Harrison Brothers trading room. I strode towards my desk with anticipation. According to the weekend papers, the trade that Ed and I had put on the previous month was finally coming right.

I got to my desk and turned on my machines. ‘Hi, Ed,’ I said as I tapped in the page number for the US treasury market. He was on the phone, but he gave me a wave.

I was right! The spread between the two-and ten-year US treasury bonds had tightened from 1.40 to 1.28 per cent. I did some quick calculations in my head. That was nearly a point profit on a hundred million dollars, or just under a million bucks! Not bad.

Ed finished his call. ‘Look at this!’ I called over to him. ‘Did we get it right, or did we get it right?’

He winced and scratched the back of his head. Something was wrong. I looked at him and thought.

‘We have still got the trade on, haven’t we?’

‘Not exactly,’ said Ed.

‘What do you mean, not exactly?’

‘I took it off last week.’

‘Oh. How much of a profit did you lock in?’

Ed was writhing in his chair. He had developed a devastating itch behind his shoulder blade, which he rubbed as he screwed up his face.

‘It was more like a loss. A two hundred and forty thousand loss, to be precise. The market had a hiccup at the long end for a couple of days last week. A big account sold ten years and bought three years. The trade moved against us, so I cut it. Then it came right back.’

I couldn’t believe it. I had told Ed to leave the trade on. How could he possibly have lost that much? I felt a complete fool for having trusted him. The guy must be a total moron.

Ed read my expression and winced in pain again. ‘Etienne told me to take it off.’

‘Etienne? What do you mean?’

‘Well, he’s been looking over my shoulder every day since you left. As soon as the trade went underwater, Etienne noticed and told me to cut my losses.’

‘Why didn’t you call me at FairSystems?’

‘I did, but you weren’t there.’ I remembered receiving a message that Ed had called. I had ignored it; I’d been too preoccupied with what was going on at the company. ‘Besides, Etienne told me to take it off right away. Two hours after I sold the position the trade started to go our way.’

I was furious, but not with Ed. I was mostly angry with myself. And I wanted to kill Etienne.

‘OK, Ed, don’t worry about it,’ I said, and I stood up to discuss the matter with Etienne.

Ed picked up the phone, cowered in his chair, and kept his eyes glued to the screen.

‘Etienne, may I have a word,’ I said moving over to where he was standing next to Greg.

‘Not now, mate, I am busy,’ said Etienne in his strange French bond trader accent. His English was very good but there were certain words that mixed cockney and Parisian. The effect in one so smooth was bizarre.

‘Yes, now,’ I replied. ‘Why did you tell Ed Bayliss to sell my treasury position?’

‘I said not now. I said I am busy,’ Etienne answered, without looking at me. He picked up Greg’s phone.

I pulled it out of its socket. Etienne turned to me, anger flaring in his eyes.

‘We could have made a million dollars from that trade, instead of losing two hundred grand!’ I was aware that the trading room had suddenly gone quiet.

‘The trade was too big for Ed to handle,’ he replied, his voice a barely controlled growl. ‘He is only a kid. He had lost two hundred thousand. How long should I have waited? Until he lost half a million?’